


Afterthoughts

by William_Easley



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Hope, Hurt/Comfort, Loss, Nostalgia, Promises, Regret, Summer's end
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-06
Updated: 2020-08-06
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:21:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25752010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/William_Easley/pseuds/William_Easley
Summary: The events of this story overlap and follow those of Weirdmageddon 3 as, regretfully, Dipper and Mabel prepare to leave Gravity Falls and return home to Piedmont. As always when one prepares for such transitions, there are inevitable afterthoughts.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 15





	Afterthoughts

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own the show Gravity Falls or any of the characters. They are the property of the Walt Disney Company and of the show's creator, Alex Hirsch. I earn no money from writing my fanfictions; I do them out of love for the show, for practice writing, and to amuse myself and, I hope, other readers.

**Afterthoughts**

**By William Easley**

_(September 1, 2012)_

* * *

The party was over.

And so was the summer.

Though normally Mabel loved to sleep in, that Sunday she woke up at the same time as her brother—she thought. In reality, Dipper had been lying awake for more than an hour, so at ten minutes to six, he was already alert.

"Last day," Mabel said sadly.

"But the first day of our lives as teen-agers," Dipper said. "Lots of stuff to look forward to, Sis. Are you packed?"

"Just about," she said. Are you—no, forget it, I know you made a chart and all."

"No, not a chart. I did have a check-off list, like Mom made for us at the beginning of the summer."

Mabel sighed. "I hope Candy and Grenda will remember me. And, uh, I hope that, you know, Wendy will remember you."

Dipper winced, but he said, "You don't have to worry. You and Candy and Grenda will be on the phone every day. Um are you—never mind." He got out of bed, grabbed fresh clothes (Wendy had insisted that he don clean laundry for the long bus trip—"If you don't, the company's gonna have to fumigate the bus."). He actually showered without anyone telling him to, and then he spritzed his underarms with Hatchet, a deodorant favored by teen boys, and—he was a teen.

He dressed and told Mabel, "The bathroom's all yours, Sis."

"Thanks." She sniffed. "Whoa! You smell like Robbie!"

"Ew!" he said. "Really? Should I take another shower?"

Mabel waved her hand in front of her face. "No, it'll ease off in a while. Uh, favor?"

"What?"

"Um—there's a lot of stuff still in the room. Would you—" she gulped. "Would you pick it up and put it in the trash?"

"Uh—OK," Dipper said.

By the time he heard the shower running, Dipper started to understand. He had stuff to toss, too—his "Who is the Author?" plan of action, a snarled wad of twine that he had used in an unsuccessful attempt to link photos of various possible Authors, things like that. Mabel had a weird box with three or four large food pellets, like those for hamsters, but big enough for humans, some of the components of their attic indoor golf course, a punched ticket for the Sev'ral Timez concert—not hers, because when she and her friends got to the venue, the concert had sold out. Dipper reflected that Mabel must have picked up a used ticket from the ground as a souvenir, and the thought made him feel sad.

Lots of other stuff went into the trash, too: an empty Pitt Cola can—from the first time Mabel had ever tried one, some blurry photos from their Gobblewonker hunt, a bottle of dried-up rubber cement from her scrapbooking, a home-made quiz ("Do You Like Me? Yes Definitely Absolutely!") and . . . lots of other stuff.

Stuff that was really worthless, Dipper realized, but things Mabel would miss because they would remind her of the Falls.

Mabel came in, looked around, and sniffled. "Thanks, Brobro," she said hoarsely. "I couldn't have done that."

"It's OK," Dipper said. "I probably should trash all my photos and stuff, too."

"Don't," Mabel said. "You'll want to remember Wen—I mean when we had such, uh, fun times together. Please don't."

"OK," he said. "I don't have all that many, anyway."

They had breakfast—pancakes and the very last of the Mountie Man syrup—and Mabel spent an hour out in the yard with Waddles. She came back inside crying. "Oh, Dipper," she said.

He gave her a sibling hug.

* * *

Late in the afternoon, Wendy stood patiently as Pacifica Northwest scribbled with a gold pen. "Thanks, girl," Wendy said to Pacifica, who had just signed her name, dotting the I with a pink heart.

"I know it's dopey," Pacifica said in her usual bored tone. "But—yeah, I'm gonna miss those two goofs. Seriously."

"It'll seem different," Wendy agreed. "They're leaving at like five o'clock, in case you want to meet the bus and say goodbye."

Pacifica nodded, but didn't commit. Or even snark. Which made Wendy suspicious that just perhaps, saying goodbye to the Pines twins might be hard for the rich blonde girl.

OK, that was everyone. Wendy signed her own name and sighed. Stan Pines waited in his car. "That got it?" he asked as she got into the passenger seat.

"Got 'em," Wendy said. "Even Robbie signed. Stan, straight up, is it really set?"

"Yeah, I think so," Stan said. "Lot of water to go under the bridge or over the dam or whatever it does between now and next June, but I think the kids' parents will agree. I mean, me and Ford will work on 'em—assuming we get back from the Arctic alive—"

"Is it really gonna be that dangerous?" she asked him.

He shrugged as he started the engine. "Ah, who knows? My brother's got his eye on a cabin cruiser. Bellingham built, thirty-three feet stem to stern, eleven-foot beam, lotsa other stuff that I don't understand either. It oughta be good for the trip we got in mind. Even if we lose power or the engine fails, we can run up a sail and she'll work as a, what did Ford call it, a sloop, jib and mainsail, yada yada. But even he don't know what we might find when we take a look-see at his anomaly."

"You better come back," Wendy warned.

"Well, we plan to," Stan said. "Hey, Soos may be the new manager of the Mystery Shack, but me and Ford are the co-owners, and I'm the CEO of the company. Yeah, with luck we'll be back by spring next year."

"If you can't get back—"

"Soos will be running the Shack, and he'll need help. And Mabel and Dip are trained workers now." They reached the Shack, and Stan braked. He gave Wendy a friendly glance. "I expect you'll miss the knuckleheads if their folks wouldn't let them come back, huh?"

Wendy nodded. "In fact, before they get on that bus, I want to see if I can have a word with Dip."

"Not Mabel?"

"Mabel understands these things," Wendy said. "She's a girl."

"And Dipper?"

"Is Dipper," Wendy said with a grin. "Wish me luck!"

* * *

Stanford and Stanley had coffee on the porch. "We really doin' this?" Stanley asked.

"If you'll go with me. I'm too old to undertake a sea voyage alone. I'm going to need a first mate."

"Co-captain," Stan corrected.

"Stanley, I've qualified to handle a moderately-sized sailing vessel. You've puttered around on the lake."

"Co-captain or the deal's off," Stanley said, smiling. "Come on, brother. We're Kings of New Jersey, remember?"

Ford chucked and threw up a six-fingered hand in resignation. "Co-captain it is," he said. "With the proviso that I do the calculations and set the course."

"Oh, sure," Stan said. "I mainly want to be in charge of the important stuff like how much beer to pack aboard."

The door opened, and a subdued Mabel emerged. "Hi," she said.

"Hello, Mabel," Ford said. "Don't be so down-hearted. This is the start of a new adventure."

"Yeah, Pumpkin," Stan said. "You think a summer romance is epic? Nothin' compared to an eighth-grade romance! You got a lot to look forward to."

"Dipper says that, too," Mabel said. "I've got a bad problem. Could I ask you two for a big, big favor?"

"Anything," Stan said.

"Within reason," Ford added.

"Without, even," Stan insisted. "What is it?"

"Well," Mabel said, "I've got a pig and a lobster."

"Oh," Stan said. He patted the sofa arm, and Mabel climbed up to sit on it. "Listen, Sweetie, Soos is as tender-hearted as you are. He'll take care of Waddles and the mud bug for you."

"Waddles. I'm going to miss him most of all," Mabel said. "Yeah, Soos had said he's welcome to stay. But Knuckles—"

"What now?" Stan asked.

"My lobster. I named him Knuckles. He was supposed to be my dinner. Anyway, he's not happy in the tank, and it's hard to get the salt just right and all. So since you two are going on a sea voyage—could you please return Knuckles to the ocean for me?"'

Ford looked startled. "We couldn't—"

"Say no," Stanley finished hurriedly. "We couldn't say no to you, Sweetie. We'll take care of it."

"Thanks," she said, hugging him. "Oh, I've got something for both of you. I made you goodbye sweaters! I'll go get them."

When she went back inside, Ford said, "Stanley, we can't just take that lobster and drop it into the Pacific. It's an Atlantic lobster!"

"So?" Stan asked.

"What do you mean 'so?'" asked Ford. "Stanley, the only lobsters in the Pacific are spiny lobsters—they don't have the big claws of the Atlantic kind. We might seriously damage the environment by introducing an alien species."

"How's this?" Stan asked. "We'll take a little side trip. What about this? We take a week before we start our cruise and go visit our old home town. Be nice to put a pebble on our parents' grave. And I know for a fact that there are lobsters off the coast of, like, Boston."

"Well—that would be acceptable, but the cost—"

"Poindexter! You got back royalties for like six dozen patents, and I squirreled away a few clams, too. I mean, re building the fershlugginer Portal cost a bundle, but I got enough left to spend some clams to take a lobster home."

"Well . . .." Ford said uncertainly.

"It's for Mabel," Stan said.

"Very well," Ford said, giving up. He sighed. "So both Mom and Dad passed while I was . . . away?"

Stan nodded. "Yeah. Dad first, then a year and a few months later, Mom. Over the years, I got about three calls from Ma, one from Dad. That was when the news got to them that I had apparently died in a car crash. All those times, I pretended to be you, and I did a good enough impression of your voice to fool them." He frowned. "I think. Damn Bill Cipher. My memories still ain't what they used to be."

"Dad was never very communicative, and I didn't keep in touch with Mom myself," Ford admitted. "I was very remiss."

"I was remisser than you," Stan said.

For a few minutes they sat side by side in subdued silence. And then Mabel came out with the goodbye sweaters. Though the gaudy garments took Stanford somewhat aback, they both agreed to wear them.

* * *

Dipper wasn't sure he could say goodbye without breaking down. But then, as they waited for the Speedy Beaver bus to arrive, Wendy made it a little easier. She pulled him aside and knelt on the grass. "Hey, you mean a lot to me, man." She extended her hand for a fist bump.

Smiling though his heart ached, Dipper all but whispered, "You, too."

Then to his surprise, Wendy swept his pine-tree cap off his head and plopped her own fur trapper's hat in its place. "Something to remember me by," she said with a grin as she donned his trucker's hat. She actually winked at him. "Oh, and this." She handed him a letter—not in an envelope, but folded and lightly taped, with his name as the address. "Read it the next time you miss Gravity Falls," she advised.

And then the Speedy Beaver bus pulled up.

And Waddles tugged on Mabel, imploring her in his puppy-like, mute way. _Don't leave me,_ the pig begged silently.

Though the driver insisted there were strict rules against animals on buses, Stan and Ford, with a subtle display of brass knuckles and a pistol (magnetic, but you couldn't tell that by looking at it) persuaded him to re-consider.

The twins' friends and relatives all ran along waving until the bus pulled away. Then they broke up, Grenda and Candy walking off silently and sadly while Soos, Ford, Stan, and Wendy returned to the Shack. On the porch, Wendy and Stan lingered.

"Well," Wendy said.

"Soos is gonna need your help next summer, too," Stan said. "Not just Dipper and Mabel."

"I'd like to come back," Wendy said. "If my dad will let—"

"I talked to Dan already," Stan assured her. "It's all set. Don't mess it up."

Wendy smiled at him, though tears gleamed in her eyes. "Aw, you old—"

He stood surprised as she hugged him and cried into his chest. Feeling as awkward as Dipper would have in his place, Stanley hugged her back and patted her shoulder. She finally pulled away and wiped her eyes. He gave her a bandana. "Thanks, man," she said.

"Never ever tell anybody I did this for you," Stan said gruffly. "They might think I was going soft or something."

With a sad smile, Wendy mimed zipping and locking her lips and then flicking away the key.

* * *

"See You Next Summer." Everyone had signed it, but Dipper recognized Wendy's handwriting in the hopeful message. And below it, Wendy had signed her name and advised Dipper to "Stay Cool."

Leaning back and smiling out the window as the familiar water tower faded away in the distance, Dipper let himself hope. Next summer. With Soos for sure, and maybe Ford, and maybe Stan and maybe, oh, maybe also waiting to meet them again a lanky, smiling, lazy redheaded lumberjane would be there— _That's why she traded hats with me! So that next summer, we'll have to trade back!_

* * *

Around the middle of September, an airplane landed at Boston's Logan Airport. Stan and Ford deplaned, collected a case marked "LIVE SPECIMEN," and collected their rental car.

That evening, on a chartered boat, the two of them consigned Knuckles—who was, after all, a native of these waters—to the deep.

"Be free," Ford advised the crustacean as it sank into the waves. "Go forth and multiply."

"Don't walk into no more lobster traps," Stan added. He put his camera away. "OK, I took some pictures for Mabel. Ready to head back to shore and to our old stomping grounds?"

"No," Ford admitted. He took a deep breath. "Let's do it."

* * *

And at the same time in Piedmont, California, Mrs. Pines said, "Mabel, the pig is growing so big he can't sleep in the house for much longer!"

"What am I gonna do with him, then?" Mabel asked. "It's not like I can take him back to Gravity Falls." She noticed something odd in her mom's expression, and then asked suspiciously, "Is it? Maybe . . . for Christmas?"

"Well—"

Without another word to her mother, Mabel turned and sped upstairs. "Dipper! Dipper! Guess what!"

* * *

_The End_


End file.
